He flicked through the pages and, from January onwards, the only thing that was noted was appointments and holidays that had been booked.
Ready to put the book down, he came across the June section and could see that the pages were rammed with words in blue ink. It was unusual, considering the first half of the book was almost bare. Daniel then noticed the first date where the cluster of words were.
It was Sunday June 10th.
The virus had been announced the day before, but for a lot of people Sunday was when it really started for them, waking up to carnage beyond their scariest dreams. Most hadn't seen the news reports on the Saturday, and others that did weren't too concerned. It had been seen before: Mad Cow Disease, SARS, Ebola, Bird Flu... This was just another pie-in-the-sky virus. Wasn't it?
Daniel lay on the bed and began to read.
June 10th
What the fuck is happening? I've just spend two hours watching the TV, in tears, and it looks like the whole country is going to shit. I'm writing this in case me and Kate don't make it, and I really do fear the worst.
Just got off the phone to mum and dad and they're now in the attic. We're going to be contacting each other by text. The news tells us to fill our baths and barricade our main doors, but I don't see the point. If these things can break through my door, then stacking up a few cupboards against it is hardly going to make a difference. I've decided to take me and Kate, my four-year-old, upstairs to my bedroom and stay there, and have made my attic accessible in case the worst case scenario happens.
The street is now beginning to fill with screams; some of them are young screams, and I dread to think what kind of carnage is happening in my neighbourhood.
June 11th
Last night, I spent most of the evening in tears and watching TV. I then got my daughter settled in the attic, read her favourite book, The Fish Who Could Wish, to her, then went downstairs as soon as she drifted off. At 9pm I did something silly, especially considering the situation we're in and that I have a young daughter. Last night I got drunk. Two bottles of red wine was consumed and I woke up this morning with a stinking hangover. This morning I staggered off of the single bed and rubbed my sore head. I then scanned the room and wondered what the hell I was doing there. It took a few seconds for me to realise, and I burst into tears once again.
Although it is Monday and I should be at work, we're treating this day like a pyjama day. We've sat and played games all morning, with the news on in the background, and I made a cake in the afternoon. My little girl did ask a few times why I kept all the curtains closed, but I told her that I wanted the day to be about just her and me and wanted no intrusions. She's been asking about her dad and I told her that she may not see him for a while. He usually comes round to visit on a Saturday afternoon or evening, but with this thing happening, I fear he may be caught up in it, as he never showed up on the Saturday.
At seven we watched The Incredibles and both of us went to bed before nine. This time I went to bed sober. After tucking my daughter in, I was asked a dozen questions that were difficult to answer: Am I going to nursery tomorrow? Is daddy coming next week? Can I go to Grandma's?
My parents were not answering their phones anymore and I was thinking the worst. I lay on the bed with my girl and was soon forced out of it when I heard a scream from outside. I went down the stepladders of the attic and peered out of my bedroom window. Four of those things were around a woman I recognised and were ripping her apart.
The screams were horrendous, but I watched in morbid fascination, watching these things in action for the first time. Shuddering with fright, I looked around the street to see evidence of what had happened over the last couple of days. Blood had been spilt; I had counted at least four bodies, what was left of them, in the street and a car had crashed into a house on the other side of the road. To say I am frightened would be an understatement, but I'm a mother and I need to get on with it. I need to be strong for my little girl and hope help will come soon.
June 12th
I'm lucky if I got two hours of sleep last night. My daughter, bless her, snored for most of the night, but it wasn't her cold that kept me awake. The lack of communication is beginning to worry me from the media. Some news channels are not broadcasting anymore, and that can only be a bad thing, right? Anyway, more action has been witnessed by myself in the street, and it appears that some of the residents are fighting back. I saw four men in a group, all armed with bats, and taking out whatever beasts that were roaming around. The men are also going into houses, and I assume that they're going in to check on the people inside.
I'm too petrified to go out, and I'm praying that, if not today, they come to mine tomorrow. I'm beginning to run out of food and me and Kate are both going out of our minds with boredom. Fortunately we still have power. For now.
June 13th
The men came this morning and we had a chat on the doorstep about the surreal situation that was unfolding. They told me that a lot of people had decided to leave, which stunned me. I was in two minds if that was a brave thing to do or just suicide. I suppose they did what they did to keep themselves and their families alive, to have a better chance. Personally I listened to what the media told me and never left the house. I have family, like most people, but I'm not prepared to risk mine and my daughter's life to see them. At the moment they don't seem to be risking theirs to see me, but there might be a good reason for that. I don't want to think about that right now.
It has been a terrible evening. My girl is in her bed, out for the count, and I am trying hard not to drink any more wine and I'm now sitting and scribbling in the corner.
I've just heard the awful screams of a male. It's obvious what was happening to him as the screams went on for many seconds before silence reared its head. I sat there in tears, imaging him on the floor, lying there, dead, and his insides being stuffed in the mouths of those disgusting rotting bastards. I got up and ran to my kitchen sink and threw up.
June 14th
I never slept a wink last night. I know people say that and exaggerate massively, but I honestly never slept a second of sleep last night and now I'm feeling it. No matter how bad things are going, whatever disaster is happening around the world, humans still need to sleep, whether they like it or not, and right now I'm totally exhausted.
I passed out on the couch after lunchtime, and woke up nearly two hours later and couldn't find my daughter, my Kate. I searched up the stairs and couldn't find her; then I ran back down to the ground floor, wondering what the hell had happened. My heart was beating out of my chest and I couldn't breathe, then suddenly ... boo!
She was hiding behind the couch and wanted to scare me. She succeeded. I could have slapped her, but instead I broke down and gave her the biggest cuddle a little girl could get off her mother.
We have been asked to leave and go to Sandy Lane to be closer to the other residents, but I'm not so sure. I've got a feeling I'm not going to have a say in the matter. Initially I told them no, but I have a feeling, after four days, that they want to block the place off and get some kind of security. A few hundred yards past the Pear Tree there has been reports that many of those things are around the Draycott Park area. I'm hoping that they're heading out of Rugeley, rather than heading in. Anyway, I'm exhausted. It's nearly ten in the evening and my body is craving sleep.
June 15th
We were being moved to Sandy Lane, to be closer to other residents, and was told that it was safe to walk in the area. After leaving Hill Street, Kate and I was heading towards a place that had been abandoned, and the men were trying to put us in there to be closer to others so they could clear out the corpses on my street.
Kate and I went for a walk along the fence, near the Lea Hall building. Kate noticed a stray dog, on the other side of the fence, and tried to feed it with some mini cheddars that she had in her pocket. The dog staggered over to her and bit her on the finger. She immediately took unwell and I noticed the mangy mutt had bites to its b
ody. I assumed that the dog was infected—although the TV didn't state that it was possible for animals to be contaminated, and that also meant that Kate could also be contaminated. When she complained of a sore head and sickness just minutes after being bit, I knew she was in trouble.
I took Kate back to our own house, against the men's wishes, and locked the door. I took her upstairs, carrying her, and placed her on my bed. I tried to shake her, but I couldn't wake her up. In just ten minutes she had fallen into some kind of coma, but to be completely sure I decided to wait until, or if, she turned. I cried for what seemed like an eternity as my baby girl slipped away, and when she eventually opened her eyes, she woke up as something else, but she wasn't Kate. I kissed her on her forehead and left the room.
In tears and sobbing uncontrollably, I left my house and noticed two men waiting outside. They could see how distraught I was and I told them what had happened. They asked my permission if they could 'take care' of Kate and I reluctantly nodded. I never hung around; I just left the house.
Heartbroken, I returned back to my home, once it had been cleared, to pick up some personal belongings and sat on my bed, crying. I opened up my diary and added more information to it, including what you are reading now, whoever you are.
Losing a child is the hardest thing a parent can go through. And although I'm no coward, I really can't see the point of carrying on. My daughter is/was my life, and if she is taken away from me then I have nothing to live for. If I have nothing to live for, then what's the point of still existing?
I'm sitting on the bed with a glass of water and a tub of painkillers on the side-table. I just don't see the point of being around, especially with the world the way it is. A lot of people have died in a terrible way, and frankly I just can't see it getting any better. I only stayed alive for my daughter, otherwise I would have done this earlier. What are the options that I have? Try and live in a new world without my daughter that has nothing but fear, death and pain in store? Or go to sleep and never wake up again? The latter seems the only option that appeals to me now that Kate has gone.
If any of my family get to read this, then I'm sorry, but this is my choice. If it's any consolation, I make this decision with a heavy heart, with tears streaming down my face, but it's my life. I have to go. I wish the survivors luck with what is to greet them, but it's not for me.
Daniel Badcock turned the next page to the diary to find it was blank. He closed the green book, and with a tightened throat he placed it in the drawer. Wiping the bottom of his soaked eyes, Daniel stood to his feet and made his way downstairs. He still had a couple of houses to check before finishing.
Chapter Seventeen
Karen insisted that Paul should have a lie down in her room. The guy was distraught and hadn't stopped crying since discovering the grim remains of his boy. The exhausted man caved in to Karen's persuasiveness and lay on his side, his back to Karen, with his shoulders shuddering with his sobbing.
Still standing, Karen spoke, "I'm sorry, Paul. There's nothing I can do or say that..."
Paul never responded and his bawling grew with every heartbreaking second that passed. He felt worse now than when he discovered his wife and daughter were no more. He didn't understand why. Maybe it was because Kyle was all he had left, and he'd now lost him. Or maybe the last seconds the little man had on this earth was of being alone in the dark, possibly calling out for his daddy, whilst experiencing fear and excruciating pain that no seven-year-old should endure.
Karen stood and watched the man fall apart. She felt useless. "Is there anything I can get you?" Stupid fucking question, Karen.
Karen wiped her own tears from her face with the palms of her hands, and then patted Paul on his back as the broken man continued to cry. She leaned over and kissed him on the head with her quivering lips.
"Leave me," he said quietly, inbetween his sobs.
Karen never argued. She went downstairs and went into the kitchen. She sat at the kitchen table and stared into space for a while, until she was given a fright. Charles Washington had knocked on her door. She got up and opened it.
He could see she was distraught and announced, "We've checked everywhere and the place is all clear."
Karen nodded. "Okay. You sure?"
He nodded. "I can't stand around. Me and two others are going round telling everyone that it's safe." Charles turned around then gave Karen a quick glance. "Sorry about..."
Karen smiled and watched as Charles strolled down Sandy Lane, and went right, towards the Lea Hall building.
She looked up the stairs and decided to give Paul some breathing space, time to grieve and get used to his loss, if that at all was possible. She left the house, and her heart broke for the man and the loss of his sweet little boy as she walked on the pavement.
Karen walked past Jasmine Kelly who was one of the first to be told that the coast was clear; the young girl gave Karen a smile.
In the distance she saw Daniel Badcock staggering towards her. He looked exhausted. She dried her eyes, and they both stopped walking once they came close to one another. She placed her hand on his shoulder and asked, "You okay?"
Daniel shook his head. "One of those days where things are going from bad to worse. I was attacked, we lost Nicholas, little Kyle is dead, and while I was checking the houses I read a diary that broke my heart."
Karen didn't ask about the diary, but she did ask if the place was definitely all clear.
"Yes, it's clear." Daniel seemed sure. "I did some of the vacant houses, while the guys did the rest, and we also checked the perimeters and the fences again. There were no holes in the fences or any other irregularities."
Karen shook her head with puzzlement. "So how the fuck did it get in?"
"Well, that's the baffling part." Daniel scratched at his stubbly face. "It's definitely not someone from the camp. I reckon this thing had somehow climbed the fence."
"I've never seen them climb before." Karen was certain that Daniel's theory was incorrect. "I've seen them struggling to get up a set of stairs, and back at Wolf's cabin they couldn't manage the incline of Cardboard Hill."
Daniel rubbed his face in thought. "Unless it was a human that was bit and came over for some kind of short-lived refuge. Whatever the reason, it's done now, and all we can do is get this barbed wire up as soon as fucking possible, and increase the guards on the perimeter."
"Well, it's cost a young boy his life. And the poor little guy had to experience a death that I couldn't imagine."
Daniel lowered his head and asked, referring to Paul Dickson, "How is he? I was thinking about going to see him—"
"Don't bother. He's staying at mine for now. He needs rest."
"Okay."
"What about the body? Has it been moved yet?"
Daniel shook his head. "Me and Jon Talbot are going to remove Kyle from the changing rooms eventually. We'll put him on a sheet, wrap him up and tie both ends. Then we were gonna move him for a burial. We haven't decided yet."
"So, he's still in the changing rooms?"
Daniel nodded and sighed, "I've got someone at the door, guarding it. Obviously the place is now out of bounds."
"So what are we waiting for?"
"I need to speak to Lee, when he gets back, and I also need a word with Paul."
"I'm glad he's being buried."
"It's the best thing to do."
Karen was touched by Daniel's sensitivity. "I know most folk were put on a pile and are now on top of the Market Hall car park, but this is a seven-year-old boy. Putting his body on top of a car park with other corpses would just push Paul over the edge."
"Well...I know that. But try telling that to James McDonald."
"What's he said?" There was already anger in Karen's face, even though she had no idea what Jimmy Mac had said about the demise of Kyle Dickson.
"He was mouthing off, saying that Kyle should be dumped with the rest, and that the newcomers shouldn't be getting preferential treatment, whether it's a kid o
r anybody else."
"Fucking bastard." Karen put both of her hands on her head and pulled at her hair in frustration. "I have a machete in my room that hasn't been used in weeks. If he carries on running his mouth off, I'm soon gonna change that."
"Karen, if you do anything drastic like that..." Daniel looked uncomfortable and sighed, "Well ... you could be chucked off the site."
"Well, if I go, then Pickle will go. And if Pickle goes..."
"I wish I never told you now," Daniel half-chuckled at the hot-headed Bradley, and tried to joke, "Anyway, you shouldn't be getting all worked up in your condition. It's not good for the baby with high blood pressure and all that."
"Even without Jimmy Mac gobbing off, it's still been a mega stressful day."
Daniel lowered his head sadly and felt the tears well up. "I'm sorry," he said, before having a quiet sob that touched Karen but also took her by surprise.
She placed her hands on his shoulders and told him it was okay. She kept her hands there whilst he continued with his breakdown. He quickly composed himself and began clearing his throat, sniffing, and wiping his eyes with the backs of his hands. He apologised to Karen for any embarrassment that he had caused her, but she jokingly told him to shut up.
Snatchers (Book 8): The Dead Don't Pray Page 7